


Sherlollipops - Color My World

by MizJoely



Series: Seeing In Color [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, Soulmates AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 08:25:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3168137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow-up to my drabble "True Colors" - in which Sherlock Holmes finally decides that seeing in color might be something he actually wants</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - Color My World

When he sees her again less than a year after that first chance encounter, he doesn’t recognize her at first. Why would he, when he’d gone out of his way to delete that meeting, her name, her face, everything about her? He kept only the fact that he’d briefly seen color, and only so that he could file away the fact that, in this aspect at least, he was exactly the same as any other boring, normal human on the planet.

She is performing an autopsy and he is observing a level above and behind glass, so there is no possibility of touching her, and yet…something about her catches and holds his attention. It is not her movements, so deft and sure, as she performs the autopsy he is ostensibly here to observe on behalf of the police, although they are certainly worthy of note. Her face is obscured by a mask and the plastic face-shield she wears; her hair is tucked beneath a surgical cap but the wisps that straggle free tease at his memory, as does the fineness of her grey-shaded features until finally he is distracted enough to be forced to excuse himself. Luckily he has already noted the details necessary to provide the identity of the murderer to Lestrade.

It is tedious, knowing that his observations will be double-checked by one of the Met SOCO monkeys who sees in color, in case his so-called ‘lack’ has caused him to misread a vital clue, but he doesn’t let it worry him as he fires off a text to Lestrade. No, he has other things on his mind; he finds himself wondering what the exact name of the color of the specialist registrar’s hair is, and if her eyes are similar in shade.

He lingers in the corridor outside of the autopsy room, refusing to wonder why he doesn’t just leave; his work here is done, the killer identified, no reason for him to stay…and yet, he does. And as soon as the young woman enters the corridor, her hands stripped of the latex surgical gloves, mask and cap and face-guard removed, he _knows_.

Much has happened between that first chance meeting and now: he has gained a friend and flat-mate in the person of John Watson; he has faced down a master criminal; he has seen those he cares for threatened and managed to save them all; he has solved multiple other crimes; and he has done all of this without the supposed benefits of seeing in color. He should turn away before she recognizes him, let the world continue on as it has, and yet he stays. He waits for her eyes to move up to his face (she is busy composing a text on her mobile), and when she starts to brush past him with a murmured, “Sorry, excuse me” he clears his throat, deliberately drawing her attention to himself.

Her eyes flash upward automatically, and he can tell to the exact millisecond when she recognizes him. A startled “Oh!” escapes her lips and she freezes in place, mouth still partially open.

“Sherlock Holmes,” he says, introducing himself, extending his hand.

“M-Molly Hooper,” she stammers, reaching out automatically and placing her much smaller hand in his.

He has no name for the colors he sees as he prolongs this, their second moment of contact, but he will learn them all. She seems exactly the type to already own a book identifying varying shades and hues, although it’s possible she’s discarded it in light of his abrupt denial of their connection when their fingers accidentally brushed on that long-forgotten street.

“My eyes are brown,” she blurts out. It is a ritual he has seen enacted many times; if one’s parents are soul-mates and can see in color, they tend to inform their offspring of such information. “My skin is sort of peachy, and my hair is brown, chestnutty brown.”

“My hair is dark brown, my eyes are a changeable blue-green,” he responds, offering like for like. He’d he thought he’d deleted the information years ago, and is surprised to realize that he somehow retained it. Interesting; in spite of his belief that he had no desire to be saddled with a soul-mate, some part of him must have wanted it. No, not surprising at all, else he wouldn’t be here right now, having this conversation.

He watches as she files the information away, and shows no signs of wishing to let go of his hand. The colors will fade again as soon as they do; only continued and prolonged contact of an intimate nature will cause the colors to become a permanent part of their vision.

“Would you like…that is, the canteen’s coffee is awful, but there’s a place across the street, I’m due for a break…” She is babbling a bit, but he finds he doesn’t mind. He has already deduced a great deal about her – she owns a cat, she lives close to the hospital, she is comfortable with her petite height but self-conscious about her perfectly adequate figure – but the more she speaks, the more he understands who she is.

And he is very, very interested in knowing who she is, Molly Hooper, Specialist Registrar. John and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and his parents and possibly even Mycroft will be pleased that he’s making such an effort with this woman. The woman with whom he will – if his own personality flaws don’t eventually drive her away – spend the rest of his life. She is intelligent, skilled in her field, and attractive (not that that last attribute matters), and still rambling on about coffee.

“Coffee,” he interrupts her, smiling in case said interruption should be interpreted as rudeness. “Yes. Coffee.”

Then he escorts her to her office to fetch her handbag, allowing no hesitancy as he enters this newest phase of his life.


End file.
